Before the Hunt

Two: Monday Morning

POV MARCELINE

I'd stayed up late because of a bad dream that I had. And my sleep paralysis kicked in at the worst time because once I woke up from my nightmare, I could see the weird demonic thing in the corner of my room. That was when I woke up to my radio alarm going off for six twenty. That and I heard my grandma calling from downstairs, "Marceline, go ahead and get up!" I rolled off bed, wearing a baggy sweatshirt and gym shorts, and opened my blinds. My room wasn't small, but it wasn't huge, it was a decent size for a teenager that would cover two of the pain walls in posters or notes. It had hardwood flooring, three grey walls and one blue one at the far right of the room near a window. I had two windows in my room, one was small at towards the front of the house, and the other was a larger one that was to the right of the house that led to the small wooded area around each house in my neighborhood. My room had a very small closet that had wooden sliding doors, one door was broken so my closet was always open on the left, with a bunch of old clothes and shoes sticking out of the top shelf or the floor. To make my room look less like a storage room, I repainted my dresser to make it an off white color and I put a small, rectangular rug that was black with yellow circles on it. I thought it looked cool, though it's a rug from a pawn shop my grandpa shops at for clothes and decor for the house.

I opened my dressers top draw and pulled out a plain pastel blue sweatshirt with a white lily embroidery on the left sleeve, an old pair of mom jeans that fit like baggy pajama pants, a pair of grey socks with dark green stripes on the ankle, and my signature brown belt with the Pepsi logo on the buckle. My closet was weird, my choice of clothing was like if a hipster from the 90's time traveled to the 21st century. I don't know, I just birthed the idea out of my mind vagina. I'm very odd, I think that's why only Isaac and Jeff are my friends. Well, Don talks to me, mainly because he's my neighbor two doors down and always forgets homework. So I have to walk my bony white ass over to his place and let him either copy down my notes, or make Isaac ride his bike over here to let Don copy off of him. 

A weird thing about me is that everyone says I look like a brunet and blue-eyed Molly Ringwald. I kind of see it, but my hair is less curly than hers, it's more frizzy and fluffy than curly. I think when I started wearing my hair with slightly curlier side bangs back in sixth grade, when the 90's and early 2000's music genre hit me like a train on an off course track. 

I grabbed my small, grey backpack with several pins from Ireland on it and ran downstairs. Then I realized I didn't have on my shoes so I had to run back upstairs, put on my old, floral combat boots, and run back downstairs while my grandma (I call her Granna) waited for me while she smoked a cigarette and had a cup of hot tea. "You look tired, you okay love?" she asked, sipping her tea. I shrugged, "I was in a rush. Forgot where I put my bag, then I had to comb my hair because it looked weird and really frizzy, and that was about it." Granna smiled, "Well, at least you got up. I hit the snooze button twice this morning, thinking I didn't have to work at Blick today. Turns out today's Monday and I work on Monday's so... I had to jolt out of bed. Scared the living shit out of your granddad but it was worth it." My grandparents were both still pretty young. My family has always been one of those that get married right out of college and start having kids a year later. But, since my dad was twenty two when he met my mom, who was twenty at the time, and they both were out of school (my mom went to med school for two years) they dated for over two years, got married, and had me when my mom was twenty two and my dad was twenty four. My grandparents were both in their sixties. Granna was sixty three and Granddad is sixty seven. 

Granna's actual name is Conor Lucile McLoughin and is the definition of a hippie. She paints people pictures, she works at a Blick store (which is an art store in the downtown area, it's like Ben Franklin Crafts but better) and she dresses in nothing but paint-stained overalls with old tank tops or old sweatshirts. My Granddad's actual name is Sean Vincent McLoughin, and he's turning into a silver fox. He has oddly pale skin, with dark hair and bright blue eyes. I remember my dad telling me I got my eyes from Granddad, and I see it. Both of us have oddly bright, light blue eyes. He has slightly curly hair, like me, and acts like he's still in Ireland. They were both never from America, but I am. They both are from good old Dublin, a fairly small yet gorgeous town in Ireland. I haven't been to Ireland in ages, as in like four years, and I miss it. I don't have an accent, like my grandparents or any other person in my family, so people think that I'm either American or fucking Greek. All because I have a Latin name, Marceline. And I looked up my name on Google because I was curious, and what popped up was this: